


Braids

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [15]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hair Washing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran gets curious about Theron's hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braids

Killing the small ambush of darkspawn had taken longer than they’d thought, and the sun was starting to set as the group wiped off what gore they could. Unanimously, they all decided to make camp just off the road, backtracking across the bridge the darkspawn had attacked them on so they’d be downwind of the carnage.

Theron waited until all of the tents were up and the meal was being cooked before he considered going to wash in the river - the others had all gone over the course of settling the camp, either alone or in pairs.

He thought Zevran had gone last, and from the looks of it he wasn’t back yet. The ranger was proved right when he reached the section of the river downstream of camp that Alistair had recommended as being the most private. The Antivan seemed to be done washing himself, his hair wet and clinging to his shoulders, and his body glistened in the evening night. He seemed to be cleaning his armour of darkspawn blood, the water swirling round his waist.

Zevran looked up over his shoulder when he heard footsteps behind him, and smiling in greeting when he saw it was only the Dalish elf, a towel slung over one shoulder.

“You look… Terrible.” He pointed out, taking in the splatters of blood that decorated the other elf’s skin and armour. He even seemed to have some in his hair.

“Oh, thanks.” Theron huffed as he set his weapons and towel down on the banks with Zevran’s drying gloves and began to take his things off. Of course, Zevran paused in removing a stain from a pauldron to watch with a faint smirk. His gaze flicked appraisingly over the ranger’s lean form as he took his armour off.

“I am nothing if not honest, _amor_.” The Antivan purred, deciding that he would let Theron get clean before he tried to initiate anything or tease him. He watched as the black-haired man joined him in the cold river, involuntary shivers running through him even as he knelt down and ducked his head under. Theron surfaced a few moments later, braids streaming water down his back and shoulders. Zevran quietly handed him the soap, and went back to determinedly scrubbing his armour.

A minute of quiet later, and the blond glanced up to see how the Dalish elf was doing, a question of sorts in his mind.

“I wasn’t aware that the Dalish even used soap.”

Theron paused, a small amount of pink-tinged lather slipping down his chest, and looked up at Zevran in mild amusement.

“We don’t - at least, my clan didn’t, I’m not sure about others. Alistair introduced it to me. We use a kind of mashed up root instead, which does the same job.” The ranger explained, looking down at the small cake of soap thoughtfully. He brought a hand up, washing the soap from his chest, and then waded back to the bank to put the soap down. A hand went to his tied back hair, and Zevran tilted his head.

“You actually undo your braids?” Zevran asked, not having to completely exaggerate his astonishment. The Dalish elf stopped, and glanced back over his shoulder at the Antivan.

“Of course I do. Normally no-one’s around, though.” He replied.

“Why do you braid it in the first place?”

“It doesn’t get in the way like this. Besides, a lot of the common hairstyles in my clan didn’t suit my hair.” Theron replied, pulling a face of mild disgust as he presumably remembered experimenting with his hairstyle, and he undid the braid that kept the others tied up.

He waded back out to Zevran, quick fingers working in practiced motions to undo the rest of his braids, soap in his other hand. The Antivan watched curiously - Theron’s braids no doubt took longer to do than his own, but then again his own two braids were more for decoration than practicality. Loose, Theron’s hair was just long enough for most humans to mistake him for a female elf – some already had, in fact.

The former Crow also noted just how thick the ranger’s hair naturally was as well as the length - even though it seemed to lie rather flat once unbraided, but that was probably because it was always braided, had always been. The braids were just tight enough to make the Dalish elf’s hair seem thinner and flatter than it was.

Zevran looked down at his armour as Theron continued to wash his body, ensuring that the leather and metal was as clean as he could get it before he went to lie it out with his other drying things. After, he was torn between simply lingering and blatantly watching the other elf bathe, or try to distract him sooner than he’d planned.

The ranger was well aware of being watched, and he paused in scrubbing the lather into his hair.

“Can I help, Zevran?” He asked wryly, and the Antivan grinned.

“I was going to ask you the same question.” He replied, casually walking back over. “Wash your back, perhaps.” He added in response to the blank look he got. Theron was quiet as he thought about it, and then he shrugged.

“If you want.”

“No guarantee that it’ll stop me from causing mischief, though.” Zevran grinned slyly, folding his arms over his chest and looking the Dalish elf up and down. Theron laughed, and resumed washing his hair.

“I didn’t think it would.”

Zevran held the soap as the other elf dipped his head back into the current, looking up towards the dark evening sky. When he resurfaced and straightened up again, his back to the blond, Zevran reached a hand out to touch Theron’s hair before he could wonder if the Dalish elf would mind. It was wet, but tough. Wiry, almost. The ranger had often compared the feeling of Zevran’s hair to silk or feathers, and now he understood why.

“Any particular reason why you’re stroking my hair, _lath_?”

Theron’s question made Zevran drop his hand quickly, hitting the water with a splash.

“Sorry.”

“I’m not mad. Just curious.”

“I’ve… Never seen it like this, or felt it.” Zevran admitted, still feeling like a child being scolded, for some reason, as if he’d made a grave mistake in touching the ranger’s hair. “Is it difficult to braid?” He asked, reaching up again to gently brush the thick locks aside so he could start washing Theron’s back, as he’d suggested.

The ranger shook his head gently, leaning back slightly as Zevran’s fingers began to work at the tense knots in his shoulders, massaging as well as cleaning.

“Not really, but I’m used to doing it.”

“Can I try?” The Antivan requested. Theron looked over his shoulder at that, a little awkwardly given how close Zevran was standing to him.

“What, you want to braid my hair?” The other elf sounded mystified.

“I can only try, no?” Zevran replied with a faint smile. His hands paused on the black-haired man’s waist (sadly a little higher than he’d intended) and he handed the soap back over.

The ranger turned his head again so his hair fell back over his shoulders, and he kept still. This would definitely be interesting.

It was easy enough to section off the ranger’s hair, given how it had barely altered from it’s braided state even after being washed. Zevran often prided himself on his dexterity, and how easily he could braid his own hair without use of a mirror, but he wondered how hard the Dalish elf’s hair would be.

“They don’t need to be as tight as yours.” Theron advised as the blond started.

“You have no idea how tempted I am to twist those words into some form of innuendo.” Zevran sighed wistfully, grinning unashamedly.

The Dalish elf sighed as well in response, wearily, and quickly changed the subject.

“How do you get your hair so soft, anyway? It can’t all be your good luck.”

Ah, Zevran loved this question.

“I use oil - not the ‘massage’ oil, a different sort. Sadly, it is very hard to come by out here in Ferelden.” The Antivan explained, eyes on Theron’s hair and his fingers as he worked. “I put a small amount through my hair after washing it, and leave it in. It works wonders, I assure you.”

He paused in braiding, feeling the texture of Theron’s hair again. “I am not sure it would work on your hair, however. Too…”

“Wiry?” The ranger supplied, smirking.

“Yes.”

Theron chuckled, reaching a hand up to check the first of Zevran’s braids when he felt it against his neck as the blond moved onto the next one. Not too bad, surprisingly. They grew quiet again, Zevran quickly becoming focused on braiding, and Theron content to watch the river flowing around them and the sky turn dark.

“It is more difficult than it looks.” Zevran admitted, examining his finished work before looking at the Dalish elf curiously.

Theron nodded, running his hand over the new braids, and smiled.

“Yes, but you did a good job.” He admitted, leading the way back to the bank and sighing when he realised he still needed to clean his own armour; Zevran’s things looked like they were half dry. It would be fully dark before he finished cleaning by himself, and the meal at camp was probably ready by now. Theron looked over at the Antivan beseechingly, who was busy drying himself off on the towel he’d brought earlier. Zevran paused, and looked down at Theron’s armour as well.

“Fine.” He sighed in response to the unspoken request, grabbing the ranger’s gloves. “But you owe me for this.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've realised that currently I only have 6 plot-heavy fic ideas left to write up, unless I brainstorm, until I've finished writing this series. That's... Unexpected. :(


End file.
